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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195917">A True Promise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaySarahK/pseuds/GaySarahK'>GaySarahK</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Regression/De-Aging, False Memories, Gen, Memory Loss, One Shot, Speculation, Time Shenanigans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:47:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,587</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195917</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaySarahK/pseuds/GaySarahK</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aunt May has something really important to talk to Peter about.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A True Promise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Peter," she says, holding an old photograph such that he can't see it, "I have something really important to talk to you about. I know that you're a busy man, but I need to talk to you about this."</p><p>"Sure, Aunt May, what's up?", he says, uncertain of when he might be pulled out to the streets for crime-fighting yet again.</p><p>"I need to ask you a few questions first," says the sweet, loving aunt. "I need you to think very carefully about them, and give me entirely truthful answers. Do you understand?"</p><p>He sits up, clearly alarmed by the unusual request. He has secrets to keep, and he doesn't plan on spilling the beans now of all times. Still, he can't say no. "Of course, Aunt May."</p><p>"Peter..." she says, "I mean it. This is very important. Please, promise me."</p><p>There's no hope he'll keep his cover now, is there? It's been blown. She <em>knows</em>, she just wants to confirm. There's no point in fighting it. "Yes, Aunt May, I promise to be honest with you."</p><p>"And?" she demands, not entirely remembering the other half of the request. It's hard for her to remember everything about this. It's like it actively wants to be forgotten. She has to carefully hold on to the most vital thoughts--a technique she doesn't recall having practiced for decades--as anything else will slip from her mind in a moment.</p><p>He's not sure, either. He conjures just enough of his reason to remember the other half of the Very Important Promise. He knows he needs to be honest, so he's not sure why it would be necessary. "And I promise to think very carefully on my answers," he agrees nonetheless.</p><p>She, satisfied that this was probably the missing piece, begins with the first question. "How old were you when your Uncle Ben died?"</p><p><em>Died?</em> Peter's a bit taken aback by her choice of wording. She'd usually circumvent the word, one way or another, with a 'passed away' or the like. "I was twenty."</p><p>She manages to recall Peter's recent promise, her mind full of many important concerns and questions. She couldn't afford to let anything go--her very life depended on it. "Are you absolutely certain about that, Peter?"</p><p>"No," he admits, understanding the significance of the clarification. "I'm not sure. I know Uncle Ben had to drive me places, back then, so it was back in high school or college...."</p><p>"Which one?" Aunt May asked, not bothering to even parse what 'high school' or 'college' <em>meant</em>: rather, she wanted to ensure he thought this through completely.</p><p>"I think it was college. Uncle Ben drove me to college at least once, I think. But I don't understand, Aunt May, what's this about?"</p><p>"In due time, Peter." She couldn't process the question while so much was still in her mind. She couldn't trust pen and paper with this kind of information: the photo she held was proof of that. "How old were you when he died?"</p><p><em>Died.</em> She said it again. "I'm not really sure. I don't track my age that closely. I think I was about twenty."</p><p>"It'll have to do," she concludes aloud. "And how old are you now?"</p><p>"Aunt May, I had my birthday not all that long ago, you're the one who puts the numbers on the cake."</p><p>"That's not important, Peter. What were the numbers?"</p><p>Peter didn't like this line of questions, and he <em>really</em> didn't like how it wasn't going where he thought it was. If he's going to have to spill the beans, he'd rather get it over with. "Aunt May, can you cut to the chase here? What's the important thing you need to talk to me about?"</p><p>"I can't tell you that yet, Peter. I need you to understand where I'm coming from, or you'll think I'm crazy. Maybe I am crazy, but I need to get to the bottom of this, and I need you to help me. How old are you, Peter? What is your current age?"</p><p>"Please don't make me say it. I already feel old."</p><p>"We can't afford to mince words, Peter. I need you to say it."</p><p>"Fifty."</p><p>"You are fifty years old?"</p><p>"Yes. I am fifty years old."</p><p>"You're sure of that. You've made a promise to your aunt, and that's the story you're going with?"</p><p>Peter <strong><em>really</em></strong> didn't like this line of questions. "I told you, Aunt May, I don't track my age that closely. You're the one who puts the numbers on the cake, and the number you put down was fifty."</p><p>She smiled. She knew that she was finally getting to the heart of the matter. "So, we celebrated your fiftieth birthday, but you're not fifty years old?" she asked.</p><p>"Right," he said.</p><p>"So," she asked, "are you older than that, or younger?"</p><p>Peter was confused by the question.</p><p>"It's a simple question, Peter. We celebrated your fiftieth birthday, but you're not fifty years old. You don't track your age closely, but you know you're not fifty. So, you must know if you're older than fifty or younger than fifty. Which is it?"</p><p>"I guess I must be older," he says, sheepishly.</p><p>"Why <em>is</em> that, Peter? Why do you think that you're older than that?"</p><p>"Because, Aunt May, some years, you forget to go up. I think, if anything, you forget more often than you remember."</p><p>"So, you've celebrated the same birthdays more than once. That means that you're older than your most recent birthday suggests."</p><p>"I guess so?"</p><p>"No, Peter."</p><p>He stops. "No?"</p><p>"No. Now, think carefully: why did I say no?" She's forgotten why she said no. She's forgotten what he asked. She'd gotten to the part about his birthdays.</p><p>He thinks about it, very hard. His mind struggles with the question. It's like swimming through cold syrup. He must be tired, or groggy. That must be it. "I might need some coffee."</p><p>"NO!" she shouts.</p><p>Peter is <em>frightened</em>. He's dealt with countless threats much bigger and stronger than her--than him--hardly batting an eye. Still, he's pretty sure he's <em>never</em> heard her shout before. What's got her so worked up?</p><p>"NO COFFEE! It doesn't help! Not with this!" That was one of the oldest tricks it used against her, when she first started realizing the nature of her concern. She'd feel like she needed a pick-me-up to focus on the issue. By the time the coffee was ready, she'd have already forgotten why she made it. "I can't explain why right now. I just need you to trust me on this. Peter, this next one is incredibly important: what's the last thing you remember me asking you?" She didn't remember. She was actively struggling to hold on to a thought that <em>demanded</em> to be let go. She had to hold on. Everything else was secondary.</p><p>"The last thing that you <em>asked</em> me?" Peter prompted himself, trying to remember. "I think you asked if I was older or younger than fifty."</p><p>"Excellent," she said. That was an answer she could work with. She'd had to practice this conversation, for countless years, and she knew its every twist and turn. She knew how to pick it back up from any point, as long as she remembered the point of the coversation at all. "So, which is it? Older or younger?"</p><p>"Well, aren't I younger than that?" he asked.</p><p>"Why <em>is</em> that, Peter? Why do you think you're younger than that?"</p><p>Peter is confused by the question. "Just look at me, Aunt May. How old do I <em>look</em>? Do I look fifty to you?"</p><p>"Yes, Peter. You do. Even if you didn't, you'd need a much better explanation for why you think you're younger."</p><p>"Fine, older then," Peter says, still confused by the line of questions. If he was going to have to spill the beans, he'd rather get it over with. "Aunt May, can you cut to the chase here? What's the important thing you need to talk to me about?"</p><p>"I can't tell you that yet, Peter. I need you to understand where I'm coming from, or you'll think I'm crazy. Maybe I am crazy, but I need to get to the bottom of this, and I need you to help me. Why do you think that you're older than fifty?"</p><p>"Didn't I already answer that question?" he asked. It might have sounded rhetorical, but he wasn't certain of the answer.</p><p>"Maybe you did, and maybe you didn't. I'm an old woman. I forget things. Answer it again."</p><p>"You're not that old, Aunt May," he protests.</p><p>"Never mind that, Peter, and answer the question."</p><p>"Because, Aunt May, some years, you forget to go up. I think, if anything, you forget more often than you remember."</p><p>"So, you've celebrated the same birthdays more than once. That means that you're older than your most recent birthday suggests."</p><p>"I guess so?"</p><p>"No, Peter."</p><p>He stops. "No?"</p><p>"No. You can't simply guess. You have to be sure."</p><p>"Sure of what?"</p><p>She wasn't entirely sure. It had something to do with the Second Question. "Your age, Peter. Your birthdays. How many birthdays have you had? How old are you? Which birthday did you celebrate this year?"</p><p>"Aunt May, can you cut to the chase here? What's the important thing you need to talk to me about?"</p><p>"This, Peter! It's very critical that we know this! Almost everything relies on this!"</p><p>"Well, I'm fifty, Aunt May. That's the birthday I've celebrated most recently, and that must be how many birthdays I've had."</p><p>That answer made sense. It was cohesive. It can't make sense. It <strong><em>can't</em></strong>. At least one of those answers had to be wrong. She could remember something he'd said to her, and she knew it proved one of them wrong. She had to say it, and let Peter figure out the reason it didn't work. Her mind was full. "Didn't you say that some years I forget to go up?"</p><p>"Oh, right, I did. I guess I must be older."</p><p>"No, Peter."</p><p>"Right, right. I'm definitely older than fifty."</p><p>"Excellent!" Now she could move to the Third Question. "So, with that in mind, how long ago did your uncle Ben die?"</p><p>"Didn't you already ask that?"</p><p>She was still holding the photograph. If she <em>had</em> asked that, it never got answered. "I'm an old woman. I forget things. Answer it again."</p><p>"You're not that ol..." he pauses. Something about this was sinking in. Something about this conversation was off. "How long ago did Uncle Ben die, right? That's the question you asked?"</p><p>"Right, Peter." In truth, she didn't remember. She'd had to practice this conversation, for countless years, and she knew its every twist and turn. She knew how to pick it back up from any point, as long as she remembered the point of the coversation at all.</p><p>"I'm fifty now, and I was twenty when he died, so it must have been thirty years ago."</p><p>"Then explain this!" Aunt May takes the photograph and slams it, triumphantly, onto the coffee table.</p><p>Peter looks at the photo. It shows a young man and an old woman standing beside a grave: Uncle Ben's grave. "It's a picture of his grave. I don't see what there is to explain."</p><p>"Look at the year."</p><p>"1990. What about it?"</p><p>"How long ago did your uncle Ben die?"</p><p>"Didn't you already ask that?"</p><p>The photograph was on the coffee table. She'd had to practice this conversation, for countless years, and she knew its every twist and turn. She knew how to pick it back up from any point, as long as she remembered the point of the coversation at all. "Yes, I did. But maybe you forgot the answer. How long ago did your uncle Ben die?"</p><p>"Thirty years ago," Peter answers.</p><p>"Okay then," she says. "Now, this is very important: don't look at the photo. What year was it, thirty years ago?"</p><p>"It's 2020 now," he answers, "so that would've been 1990."</p><p>"If thirty years ago was 1990, then what year did your uncle Ben die?"</p><p>"Didn't you already ask that?"</p><p>"Maybe I did, and maybe I didn't. I'm an old woman. I forget things. Answer it again."</p><p>"You're..." Peter begins, suddenly stopped by an intense Deja Vu. "What year did Uncle Ben die? He died thirty years ago, which was 1990."</p><p>"So he died in 1990?" She asked him, very pointedly.</p><p>"I don't understand why that's a question, Aunt May."</p><p>"I don't, either, but I know that it is one. A very important one, at that."</p><p>"Yes, Aunt May! All the numbers work out: I'm fifty years old, I was twenty when he died, he died thirty years ago, and that would've been 1990!"</p><p>That answer made sense. It was cohesive. It can't make sense. It <strong><em>can't</em></strong>. At least one of those answers had to be wrong. "Are you sure that's how old you are?"</p><p>"Yes, Aunt May. You're the one who puts the numbers on the birthday cakes."</p><p>This isn't the time for the Second Question. He must be getting close to the truth of it. "But you've had more birthdays than the number on the cake says."</p><p>"True, but why is that important?"</p><p>"Because that means you're not really fifty: you're older than that."</p><p>"So, what?"</p><p>The photo was on the table. She'd had to practice this conversation, for countless years, and she knew its every twist and turn. She knew how to pick it back up from any point, as long as she remembered the point of the coversation at all. "So, what year did your uncle Ben die?"</p><p>"1990!" Peter says, utterly exasperated.</p><p>"Fifty minus thirty is twenty: your age now and your age then. 2020 minus thirty is 1990: the year now and the year then."</p><p>"Right," says Peter.</p><p>"Wrong!" says Aunt May. "You're not fifty, Peter!"</p><p>"Right, right, right!" His mind struggles with the thought process. It's like swimming through cold syrup. He must be tired, or groggy. That must be it. "I might need some coffee."</p><p>"NO!" she shouts.</p><p>Peter is <em>frightened</em>. He's dealt with countless threats much bigger and stronger than her--than him--hardly batting an eye. Still, he's pretty sure he's <em>never</em> heard her shout before. What's got her so worked up?</p><p>"NO COFFEE! It doesn't help! Not with this!" That was one of the oldest tricks it used against her, when she first started realizing the nature of her concern. She'd feel like she needed a pick-me-up to focus on the issue. By the time the coffee was ready, she'd have already forgotten why she made it. "I can't explain why right now. I just need you to trust me on this. Peter, this next one is incredibly important: what's the last thing you remember me asking you?" She didn't remember. She was actively struggling to hold on to a thought that <em>demanded</em> to be let go. She had to hold on. Everything else was secondary.</p><p>"You asked me what year Uncle Ben died."</p><p>She cheated, taking a peek at the photo. "And he died in 1990?"</p><p>"I don't understand why that's a question, Aunt May."</p><p>"I don't, either, but I know that it is one. A very important one, at that."</p><p>"Yes, Aunt May! All the numbers work out: I'm fifty years old, I was twenty when he died, he died thirty years ago, and that would've been 1990!"</p><p>That answer made sense. It was cohesive. It can't make sense. It <strong><em>can't</em></strong>. At least one of those answers had to be wrong. "Are you sure that's how old you are?"</p><p>"Yes, Aunt May. You're the one who... puts... the... hm. Right. No. That's not how old I am."</p><p>"Good, Peter! Good! So, what's wrong with the math here?"</p><p>"If Uncle Ben died in 1990, then I'd have been more than twenty when he died."</p><p>"Perfect," she says. It's time for the Fifth Question. "How old is the boy in the photo?"</p><p>He takes a glance at the photo, and sees a young college student, with newfound superpowers, mourning the loss of his uncle: a death that was his fault. "Twenty," says Peter. "He's definitely twenty."</p><p>"And, without looking at the photo, what year did your uncle Ben die?"</p><p>"1990," says Peter.</p><p>"Didn't we say that wasn't the case?"</p><p>"Right, right!" Peter says. His mind struggles with the thought process. It's like swimming through cold syrup. He must be tired, or groggy. That must be it. "I might need some coffee."</p><p>"NO!" she shouts.</p><p>Peter is <em>frightened</em>. He's dealt with countless threats much bigger and stronger than her--than him--hardly batting an eye. Still, he's pretty sure he's <em>never</em> heard her shout before. This is obviously an important issue, but he still doesn't understand.</p><p>"NO COFFEE! It doesn't help! Not with this!" That was one of the oldest tricks it used against her, when she first started realizing the nature of her concern. She'd feel like she needed a pick-me-up to focus on the issue. By the time the coffee was ready, she'd have already forgotten why she made it. "I can't explain why right now. I just need you to trust me on this. Peter, this next one is incredibly important: what's the last thing you remember me asking you?" She didn't remember. She was actively struggling to hold on to a thought that <em>demanded</em> to be let go. She had to hold on. Everything else was secondary.</p><p>He thinks for a moment. "You asked if we concluded that Uncle Ben didn't die in 1990. I... feel like we did, but I don't remember why."</p><p>"Because you're too old, Peter. You've been aging slower, and you're a lot older than fifty. If you're older than fifty, and this photo was taken thirty years ago, then why is the boy in this photo not more than twenty?"</p><p>Peter looks at the photo. He looks at his aunt. He looks at the photo again. "I don't know," he admits. "That doesn't check out."</p><p>"That," says Aunt May, "is exactly the answer I've been wanting to hear from you. You understand that something doesn't check out. I need you to trust me here. Take the photo, and turn away so you can't look at me."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Because I'll ask you questions about me, based on what you see in the photo: not what you see when you look at me now."</p><p>"... okay?" he pensively replies. He takes the photo and turns around.</p><p>"How old is the woman in the photo?"</p><p>He looks at the old widow, stricken with grief, unsure of how she'll support her nephew. "Early sixties?"</p><p>"You're sure of that. You've made a promise to your aunt, and that's the story you're going with?"</p><p>"I'm not great at guessing ages," he says, "but early sixties seems right."</p><p>"You're being generous, Peter. I think she's closer to mid-sixties."</p><p>"Close enough," he says. "What's the point?"</p><p>"If the photo was taken thirty years ago, how old would that mid-sixties woman be, right now?"</p><p>"Early fifties," Peter says.</p><p>"Double-check that math," she replies.</p><p>"Let's say she's sixty-five exactly, right? If the photo was taken thirty years ago, then there's a thirty-year gap between her current age and her age in the photo. She'd be thirty-five."</p><p>"And what did you say just a few moments ago?"</p><p>"Early thirties, close enough."</p><p>"No, Peter, you said she'd be early fifties."</p><p>"Did I? I must have mis-spoken."</p><p>"No, Peter. That's not why you said early fifties."</p><p>"Then, why did I say early fifties?"</p><p>"What's sixty-five plus thirty?"</p><p>"Ninety-five, Aunt May! What about it?"</p><p>"You've given me three different answers to the same question, Peter. You've said thirty-five, ninety-five, and early fifties."</p><p>"Wow, I must be really tired," he said. "It's late. Maybe I should make some coffee."</p><p>"NO!" she shouts.</p><p>Peter isn't frightened. He's angry, at himself. "Right, right, right," he says. "No coffee. It doesn't help with this."</p><p>Aunt May nods, approving. Half the line of questions has been done. The control she had to exert to keep it all in her head isn't as intense, now. "So, three different answers to the same question. Why do you think that is?"</p><p>"I don't know, Aunt May. I really think I might just be feeling groggy."</p><p>"It makes you feel that way, Peter."</p><p>"What does?"</p><p>She ignores the question. She needs to get to the end of this conversation. "How old should the woman in the picture be now?"</p><p>"Ninety-five," Peter says.</p><p>"So, the woman in the photo is me, right?"</p><p>"Right," Peter confirms.</p><p>"And this photo was taken thirty years ago, right?"</p><p>"Right," Peter confirms.</p><p>"And the woman in the photo is mid-sixties, right?"</p><p>"Early-to-mid," Peter confirms.</p><p>"Add thirty years, and you've got early-to-mid nineties, right?"</p><p>"Right," Peter confirms.</p><p>"Therefore, I should be in my early-to-mid nineties, right?"</p><p>"Right," Peter confirms.</p><p>"Now, Peter, here's something important. I want you to burn that number into your mind. Grab it tight, and hold on like my life depends on it." Under her breath, she adds, "It does."</p><p>"Early-to-mid nineties. Basically ninety-three, right?"</p><p>"Right," Aunt May confirms.</p><p>"So, the number is ninety-three."</p><p>"Now, Peter, turn around, facing me, and say that number again."</p><p>Peter turns around and says "ninety-three."</p><p>"Peter, how old am I?" she asks.</p><p>"Fifty," Peter says.</p><p>"Isn't fifty less than ninety-three?"</p><p>"Of course it is!" says Peter. "What's that have to do with anything?"</p><p>"It's got <em>everything</em> to do with <em>everything</em>, Peter! In the last thirty years, I should've aged up thirty years! That's how time works! I didn't age up at all, Peter! I aged <em>down</em>, fifteen years!"</p><p>"Why didn't you just say you're aging backwards?" he asks.</p><p>"Because you wouldn't believe that, Peter!"</p><p>Peter knew it was true.</p><p>"Even if you did, you'd try to cover it up. That's what I can't afford, more than anything else. I've had a long time, Peter--<em>more</em> than thirty years--to piece some things together. I was never senile, but my mind has only gotten sharper since this whole thing started."</p><p>Peter blanked. "What whole thing?"</p><p>Aunt May understood the struggle her nephew was having, all too well. "Time, going wrong. Peter, I'm going to ask you a question, because the answer is important. Please try to be candid with me, Peter."</p><p>Here it is. This is the part where he has to tell her. There's really no getting out of it. "Yes, Aunt May," he says, defeated.</p><p>"Why a spider?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Why did you turn into a <em>spider</em>, Peter? Some people turn into birds, some people turn into sand, some people just turn green. When you got your powers, why were they spider powers? The answer is important. Please try to be candid with me, Peter."</p><p>Peter pauses. She already knew, and she just never brought it up before? "I was bitten by a spider, Aunt May. I got bitten, and when I woke up the next morning, I had spider powers."</p><p>"Good, Peter. Now, let me ask you this: when I got a blood transfusion from my youthful super-powered nephew, what kind of powers do you think <em>I</em> got?"</p><p>Peter goes white. "... spider powers?"</p><p>"No, Peter, not spider powers."</p><p>"Then... what?"</p><p>"Youth, Peter. It's not about where the Power comes from: it's about what you're thinking when you get the Power. I was thinking about my old, frail body, and how your youthful vitality would help me recover from my surgery. I'm aging backwards."</p><p>"You're not aging backwards... are you?"</p><p>"Four questions, Peter: How old are you?"</p><p>"Fifty."</p><p>"How old am I?"</p><p>"Fifty."</p><p>"Which of us is older?"</p><p>"You are, Aunt May!"</p><p>"What's fifty minus fifty?"</p><p>Peter pauses. Thinking about it is like trying to swim through cold syrup, but he's getting a bit better at it. He realizes the significance of the answer before saying it: "Zero."</p><p>"We're the same age, Peter. I'm aging backwards."</p><p>"But then, when did this start?"</p><p>"It took me a really long time to figure it out, Peter, but I have it. One fateful March, many years ago, I had surgery and needed a blood transfusion. When I got a blood transfusion from my youthful super-powered nephew, what kind of powers do you think <em>I</em> got?"</p><p>Peter thinks very carefully, and very hard, about the answer. "Backwards aging," he concludes.</p><p>"Exactly, Peter: backwards aging. It's not about where the Power comes from: it's about what you're thinking when you get the Power. I was thinking about my old, frail body, and how your youthful vitality would help me recover from my surgery. I'm aging backwards."</p><p>"So what, Aunt May? What's the trouble with that?"</p><p>"I got that blood transfusion in 1964, Peter: after your uncle Ben died."</p><p>"I... you... <em>what?</em>"</p><p>"March, 1964. That's when I started aging backwards. It's taken me more than fifty years to remember the issue well enough that I could bring it up, Peter."</p><p>"But what's the trouble with that? It's basically eternal youth!"</p><p>"No, Peter, it's not! Eternal youth is when you stop aging in <em>either</em> direction! Peter, I'm a very old woman raised in a family with strong Christian beliefs, and I've made my peace with God. I'm not afraid to die. I look forward to seeing my husband again in heaven. Growing older... that's a natural part of life, and ends with death. Growing <em>younger</em>, on the other hand... it's unnatural, Peter. What's more, it's just as lethal, if not more. I don't want to be a teenager again, Peter: it was bad enough the first time. I don't want to be a child again: no one ever listens to children. I <strong><em>don't</em></strong> want to be a baby again, Peter! I don't want to regress into an embryo! I can accept the destruction of death, but I'm <strong><em>terrified</em></strong> of simply being <em>unmade</em>, Peter! You believe me, right? You understand that this is a problem for me?"</p><p>"I think I do, Aunt May."</p><p>"I know you've had your adventures. I know you've dealt with all sorts of strange and bizarre things. This is the important thing I need to talk to you about. I need you to promise me, Peter: a true promise," she says, beginning to cry, "not like the times you promised to be home by eight, or to take me shopping, or any number of other times that you've been too busy for your old aunt... those weren't important, Peter. Breaking those promises hurts me, but they weren't important like this is. I need you to <em>swear</em>, Peter, that I'll never grow so young that I can't legally drive. I need you to promise that I'll never get so young that your dead uncle Ben was my brother instead of my husband." Her tears make it hard for her to choke out, "I need your solemn vow that I'll never get so young that <em>we</em> moved into <em>your </em>house instead of the other way around."</p><p>"But what can I do?" he protests. "How am I supposed to live up to that promise?"</p><p>"From what I can see, you've got about another eighty years to find a cure--to figure out how to stop or reverse this. If you can't manage that, then there's something far more grim I'd need to ask of you."</p><p>"Aunt May, no!"</p><p>"Peter... do you love me?"</p><p>"Of course I do! What kind of question is that?!?"</p><p>"A rhetorical one, just like all the others have been."</p><p>Peter doesn't have words to argue with that.</p><p>"Peter, find me a cure."</p>
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